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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/27974045">we won't settle for the silence; we won't drown in the tears</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/Dialux/pseuds/Dialux'>Dialux</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Jodhaa-Akbar (2008)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Angst with a Happy Ending, BAMF Women, Bechdel Test Pass, Canon Compliant, F/M, Hinduism, Historical References, How To Get Satisfaction Out Of Life When You're Meant To Be A Trophy Wife, It's Never Too Late To Change Your Life, Post-Canon, Religious Imagery &amp; Symbolism, Soft Diplomacy, The Trick To Having An Ulterior Motive Is To Have Multiple Ulterior Motives, all the forgotten pockets of history, love blooms and withers and blooms again! like a flower!</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-12-09</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-12-09</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-10 16:02:25</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Teen And Up Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>9,672</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/27974045</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/Dialux/pseuds/Dialux</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p><i>This is not dharma,</i> she thinks. <i>This is not right.</i></p><p> <i>Silence is the last grief to be sung. Savitri spoke until death itself fell before her: and am I more afraid of my husband than she was of death?</i><br/> <br/>[Nearly four decades after her marriage to the Mughal Emperor, Jodhaa is a lonely, bored, and powerless woman with more time on her hands than she knows what to do with. And then her son- Akbar's heir- rebels against his father by crowning himself king.</p><p>Suddenly, Jodhaa's thrown into a world of intrigue and danger- not only for herself, but for the women around her as well. It isn't easy, but Jodhaa's learning that <i>easy</i> is not the kind of life that she prefers.]</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Jalaluddin Muhammad Akbar/Mariam-uz-Zamani | Jodhaa Bai</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>23</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>37</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Collections:</b></td><td>Yuletide 2020</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>we won't settle for the silence; we won't drown in the tears</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><ul class="associations">
      <li>For <a href="https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lobelia321/gifts">Lobelia321</a>.</li>



    </ul><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>Alright! There's a lot here to explain, mostly because of the accompanying research. I... hope you enjoy this @Lobelia321! Have a very happy Yuletide!</p><p>1. The title comes from Sara Bareilles' song, "St Honesty."<br/>2. A line in the Mahabharata's Vana Parva references the <a href="https://www.gutenberg.org/files/11894/11894-h/11894-h.htm">"footprint of Savitri"</a> in the Udyanta mountains. It took some research to figure out where these mountains are, exactly, but I eventually found that they're <a href="https://www.google.co.in/books/edition/Encyclopaedia_of_Ancient_Indian_Geograph/8897ridkczoC?hl=en&amp;gbpv=1&amp;dq=udyanta&amp;pg=PA668&amp;printsec=frontcover">most likely referring to the Brahmayoni hill</a> of Bihar, which is coincidentally the same hill where <a href="https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/%C4%80dittapariy%C4%81ya_Sutta">Buddha's fire sermon</a> took place.<br/>3. The story of Savitri and Satyavan can be found in the second part of the <a href="https://www.gutenberg.org/files/12333/12333-h/12333-h.htm">same Mahabharata translation,</a> but it's a fairly dense text and I think I've done a decent enough reproduction in this story.<br/>4. Jodhaa was called <a href="https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Mariam-uz-Zamani">"Mariam uz-Zamani"</a> (Beloved of the Age) by Akbar when she gave birth to Akbar's eldest child, Salim, who would go on to be called Jahangir.<br/>5. In 1600, <a href="https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Akbar#Coins">Jahangir actually did rebel</a>  against his father while Akbar was in the Deccan, and crowned himself emperor; one of the tactics for his eventual reconciliation with his father was to issue coins bearing Akbar's name.<br/>6. <a href="https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Akbar#Marriages">Ruqaiya, Salima and Gulrukh</a> were Akbar's first three wives; Jodhaa was the fourth. How to explain their lack of presence in the movie? They were in historically wartorn Ghazni, and leaving the city would've been difficult at the time.<br/>7. Turns out that Hamida <i>actually</i> wanted to marry Humayun's brother and not Humayun himself, but later she was the one that promoted the marriage between Akbar and Humayun's brother's daughter, Ruqaiya, who would go on to become Akbar's chief wife. #scandalous.<br/>8. Apparently, though the Hindu wives were allowed to keep their religion, they weren't allowed any political power during Akbar's reign<br/>9. All notable records discuss how Ruqaiya and Hamida worked together to reconcile Akbar and Jahangir; none of them mention Jodhaa. This could be because of her lack of political power, and this fic explores that in relative detail: the helplessness of it, and the injustice, and the ways to accept that level of injustice when you have no other choice.<br/>10. Sukanya is a name I gave for a nameless Rajput wife that Akbar took years after wedding Jodhaa; Dauliyah is referring to Bibi Daulat Shad, who married Akbar late as well.<br/>11. Shakrunissa was Jahangir's favorite sister; Shakrunissa's younger sister, Aram Banu, was Akbar's favorite and apparently very spoiled; Jahangir, meanwhile, called Shakrunissa compassionate and good-natured.<br/>12. The map of <a href="https://www.google.com/maps/dir/Agra,+Uttar+Pradesh/Varanasi,+Uttar+Pradesh/Aurangabad,+Bihar/Brahmayoni+Hill,+Maranpur,+Gaya,+Bihar+823001/@25.9427234,79.2978935,7z/data=!4m26!4m25!1m5!1m1!1s0x39740d857c2f41d9:0x784aef38a9523b42!2m2!1d78.0080745!2d27.1766701!1m5!1m1!1s0x398e2db76febcf4d:0x68131710853ff0b5!2m2!1d82.9739144!2d25.3176452!1m5!1m1!1s0x398cfc35b57ffe31:0xffea2031cb937478!2m2!1d84.3807025!2d24.7486689!1m5!1m1!1s0x39f32bb3a222b021:0xe8bdb5607daadabb!2m2!1d84.9959709!2d24.7700264!3e2">Agra - Varanasi - Aurangabad - Brahmayoni</a><br/>is pretty much a straight line, which explains why Jodhaa thought she could get away with that kind of a ride.<br/>13. Aurangabad in Bihar was ruled by <a href="https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Aurangabad,_Bihar">Todar Mal</a> and had <a href="https://www.nativeplanet.com/aurangabad-bihar/attractions/#pawai-mali-chandangarh">these tourist sites</a><br/>14. <a href="https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Yamuna_in_Hinduism">Yama and Yami</a> being siblings is a truly wonderful story, though their estrangement is something of my own making<br/>15. Savitri can refer to three people: the sun-god Surya, the goddess of wisdom Saraswati, or the human woman who saves her husband Satyavan. Is this confusing? HELL TO THE YEAH (I haven't been able to figure out which one of these three that footprint on the Udyanta mountains is referring to either, so!!!)<br/>[Continued in the end notes because I <i>ran out of space</i> here.]</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    
<p></p><blockquote>
  <p><em>"One should next proceed to the </em>Udyanta<em> mountains, resounding with melodious notes. There, O bull of the Bharata race, is still seen the foot-print of Savitri."</em></p>
  <p>- Rishi Pulastya, as narrated by Narada to Yudhisthira, while the Pandavas are in Vanavasa</p>
</blockquote><p>...</p><p>There is an old story that Jodhaa barely remembers from her childhood: a woman of piety and love; a husband doomed to die in a year’s time; a marriage of glory and grandeur, that let the woman rescue her husband from the very arms of death. It had not been one of her favorite stories then. </p><p>Even now, it is rather obscure. </p><p>…</p><p>Jodhaa is in her own quarters, half-asleep, when the news filters through the women’s quarters. In the end, it is not any of her maids or confidantes that dares to tell her the truth: it is Ruqaiya, gloam-haired Ruqaiya with the eyes sharp as a hawk.</p><p>“Your son has set the imperial crown upon his own head,” she says crisply.</p><p>Jodhaa blinks at her, and then she presses a hand to her own lips, shock making her go light-headed. “He would not,” she breathes. </p><p>“He has,” says Ruqaiya, but her face softens, and she approaches Jodhaa and dismisses the rest of the servants, and touches her hand to Jodhaa’s shoulder gently when their privacy is guaranteed. “I had to know that you would not support him over our husband.”</p><p>“I would never condone patricide!” says Jodhaa sharply.</p><p>Ruqaiya bows her head, taking the reprimand for what it is. She has bigger things n her shoulders. “We will fix this,” she assures her.</p><p>Jodhaa’s lips twist, but she acquiesces: what more can she do?</p><p>“Do not leave me without a son or a husband,” she says quietly. Pleads, really, but Ruqaiya will understand; she has always understood, even when Jodhaa might have wished she would not. Then she reaches out and clamps a hand about Ruqaiya’s wrist, holds tight to it, and lifts her chin to meet her co-wife’s surprised gaze. “Not just for myself. If Jalal must- do something- to Salim, it will be difficult. Very difficult.”</p><p><em> It will break his heart, </em> she thinks, but does not say. <em> The heart I taught him to trust will twist into rubble and sand, and then you will not have your emperor any longer: you will have but a man, and a griefstricken, shattered man at that. </em></p><p>But she cannot say any of those words out loud. Not in this zenana, and certainly not to Ruqaiya, who has never forgiven Jodhaa for changing Jalal so greatly in those few years before she returned, and likely never will. So instead Jodhaa waits, watching Ruqaiya until something like awareness dawns on the other woman’s face, and then she lets go and retreats to her own quarters.</p><p>…</p><p>The woman’s name had been Savitri, Savitri-the-Sun, Savitri the Wise, Savitri the Glorious and the Good.</p><p>She rescued her husband with her clever tongue, with her agile mind. She stood before Yama, boldly, and she demanded he break the laws of the world for her love. She took and took and <em> took, </em>because she was bright, because she was brilliant, because she was bold enough to reach out.</p><p>…</p><p>Jodhaa is not Jalal’s first wife; she is his fourth, and not even the one who wields the most influence. Ruqaiya has that distinction. Ruqaiya, by virtue of being Jalal’s cousin and a Mughal princess in her own right, has many such distinctions. Jalal does not love Jodhaa more than any of the others; but she is the first wife that he has taken who was so <em> different, </em>in religion and in bearing and in pride- and perhaps that made all the difference.</p><p>Or perhaps it is that he wedded Ruqaiya when he was fourteen, and Gulrukh and Salima when he was scarcely twenty, and only came to Jodhaa’s bed when he was a man assured of his power and empire. The other three had been impelled for three years to remain in Ghazni- first for Gulrukh’s pregnancy, and then for the heavy snows and wild bands marauding through the land- so by the time Jalal finally sent for them, he’d spent more than two years with Jodhaa alone, and their arrival had been a rude awakening for Jodhaa on many, <em> many </em>levels.</p><p>Ruqaiya and Hamida are obviously very close- Hamida loved Ruqaiya’s father deeply- and both wield a power in court that makes Jodhaa’s forays into courtlife pale in comparison. Jodhaa’s power- over the kitchens, in the hallways, corralling the younger wives of different religions, giving Jalal advice over their bed- seems so paltry. But she knows not to enter into those spaces reserved for the highborn Mughal women. Jodhaa knows that she is not welcome there, and even Jalal will not countenance her presence over the comfort of his other wives. She has been allowed to keep her religion; she has been allowed to keep her pride. That does not mean she will be allowed power.</p><p>Her greatest triumph to date has been the birth of her son.</p><p>And now even that triumph might turn to ash in her mouth.</p><p>…</p><p>Savitri demanded, and Savitri got. If she had not been so bold, she would not have gotten her husband back. Sometimes- <em> sometimes- </em>silence can be the wrong path to take.</p><p>…</p><p>Ruqaiya and Hamida discuss how to go about calming Jalal, how to reconcile the two. Jodhaa hears of these conversations from little fluttering maids, and she sends them away before anyone realizes how much <em> she </em>knows of the situation.</p><p>Then she pauses, and considers, and realizes how much trouble <em> she </em>is in, now.</p><p>If Jalal does not forgive Salim, if Jalal returns to his son’s continued defiance, if Jalal chooses to <em> kill </em>Salim like he did Sharifuddin- </p><p>Jodhaa will be next.</p><p>Oh, not immediately. She is certain that it won’t be done by her husband, either; it will be decided by one of his advisors, perhaps even one of Jodhaa’s family, and carried out silently- poison, perhaps, dripped into Jodhaa’s morning tea- and Jalal might even mourn her, in the same fashion he mourns for Maham Anga to this day: quietly, privately, calmly.</p><p>
  <em> I will not die quietly. </em>
</p><p><em> If I am to die, </em> she thinks fiercely, <em> I will not let my death be the expedient solution. </em></p><p>Her head hurts. Her <em> heart </em>hurts. </p><p>But Jodhaa knows that she doesn’t have time to cater to her past, or her future, either; she is the wife of the Emperor of Hindustan, not even any provincial ruler. Any missteps are noted, are <em> corrected </em>mercilessly. She cannot allow her feelings to dictate her future, because Jodhaa’s son has erased that luxury for her.</p><p>Instead, she takes a deep breath. Ruqaiya came to her in the early afternoon. Jodhaa would like to leave her quarters only at night- it feels right, to let the darkness cloak her- but she’s made that mistake once before, and that was before the zenana became as sprawling as it has over these previous decades, and definitely before her maids were replaced by spies funded by people all over the Mughal empire. </p><p>Jodhaa certainly cannot afford any missteps any longer.</p><p>So instead of leaving at night, she goes with her deeper instinct and emerges from her private chambers directly after lunch. Her maids startle like a flock of doves, but her ladies- still trusted, still her own, friends from her childhood- only look up at her with worry and concern. Jodhaa smiles at them, touched; it’s times like these that remind her of how lucky she is with regard to her confidantes, none of whom have ever betrayed her trust no matter how high the stakes.</p><p>She’ll need them now.</p><p>“Ready me,” she says aloud, voice cool as chilled water. “I will wear the pearls from Varanasi.”</p><p>It’s time to get some allies.</p><p>…</p><p><em> Desist, O Savitri! </em> Yama had said, when taking the soul of her beloved to his realms: the realms of the dead. <em> Go back and perform the funeral rites for your husband; you are freed from all your obligations to him thereafter. </em></p><p>But Yama is a god, and he is not a human, and he is not a wife, either, and so he does not understand.</p><p><em> Where my husband is taken or goes, </em> Savitri responds, <em> I will follow him there. This is the eternal custom, is it not? </em></p><p>…</p><p>The maids hurry to do so. Their arms tremble, a little, but not notably enough to irritate Jodhaa. Instead, she takes the time to consider her next steps. Only when she is fully veiled and adorned does Jodhaa turn to her ladies and say, “I wish to pray to Parvati.”</p><p>“Sukanya Begum has a mandir constructed in her quarters,” murmurs Salima. </p><p>She does. They all know that she does, because ever since Sukanya’s little daughter Mahi took ill, she began to pray fervently to Parvati and no other, and after Mahi’s passing Jalal had seen no way of cheering her save to build her an extravagant temple. It was Jodhaa herself who’d advised him to make it to Parvati. <em> Everyone </em>knows that there is a temple to Parvati in Sukanya’s quarters. </p><p>But of course, this is all a charade, and one that must be played to perfection. </p><p>“I wish to pray there,” says Jodhaa crisply. “Two of you shall accompany me.”</p><p>She leaves it up to them to decide which two, instead walking out of her quarters with swift, impatient strides. In the end, it’s Salima and Devaki who accompany her, hurrying to catch up.</p><p>Jodhaa ignores the zenana’s hush, teeth clenching under her veil but showing no other sign that anything is wrong. Everybody is curious about her- and with good reason. But she is the Empress of Hindustan, the wife of <em> Akbar, </em>and she will not wilt in her own quarters like a straggly weed. Let them look: Jodhaa is beautiful enough for it, and fiercer than needed too. </p><p>Salima announces her, and Jodhaa can hear the hesitance in Sukanya’s voice: she avoids the politics of the court as best she can, and if Jodhaa has come to try to sway her to Jodhaa’s side- to Salim’s side-</p><p><em> Best to nip that in the bud, </em>she thinks dryly, and sweeps in before an obligatory appointment materializes in Sukanya’s calendar. </p><p>“Sister,” she says, and lifts her veil. Touches Sukanya’s wrist. “I beg of you to grant me a boon.”</p><p>“A boon?” asks Sukanya faintly.</p><p>The door is open behind Jodhaa; there are certainly servants listening in. If Sukanya is foolish enough to think that Jodhaa will plot against her own husband so openly, then she certainly deserves a few more minutes of this terror.</p><p>But Jodhaa is merciful.</p><p>“I wish to pray to Devi Parvati,” she says quietly, and sees the way that relief collapses over Sukanya’s features like butter before the sun. “I have spent this morning praying to Krishna, to watch over my husband and to guide him to mercy and grace. Now I wish to pray for my son to understand his duty and his place in this world, as a mother and a wife both.”</p><p>“Of course,” says Sukanya, and she leads Jodhaa to the room where the mandir is constructed, leaving her there.</p><p>Jodhaa settles there: back straight, neck tilted up, hands resting on her knees as she sits cross-legged on the floor. The incense is a much lighter scent than Jodhaa herself prefers- certainly not sandalwood or rose or jasmine- but it is long-lasting, and the glitter of the sunlight on the gems and metal is entrancing.</p><p><em> Your son was killed by your husband, Mahadevi, </em> thinks Jodhaa, and closes her eyes, finally letting the tears out. <em> It was your rage that saved Lord Ganapati. It was your love that brought a boy to life, and your love that made him anew. Lend me this love, I beg of you: lend me your love, and your rage, and keep me safe. </em></p><p>She stays there for long enough for her limbs to go numb, and then a little longer. Then Jodhaa rises and leaves, and embraces Sukanya, and goes to first Gulrukh’s quarters and then to Salima’s, and she makes a point of telling them how deeply she mourns that this had to happen at all, and did not know this would happen at all. She speaks of all and sundry, but the truth boils down to just that: that she did not know, and would not have supported it if she had, and will not support it now.</p><p>It is almost night when Jodhaa goes to Dauliyah’s quarters. She is tired- her head has begun to ache properly, a low throb in her temples- but this is her last stop before it is all over, and she will finish this tonight.</p><p>“Dali,” she says in greeting.</p><p>Dauliyah arches an eyebrow when she sees Jodhaa, gesturing for the doors to be closed. She’s one of the few women to have her own guards- to have trust in the privacy of her rooms- so Jodhaa doesn’t protest it. “I did not expect you tonight,” she says calmly.</p><p>“Because you thought I would sit in my rooms and mourn?” asks Jodhaa.</p><p>“Because I thought you would be busy speaking to the other primary wives,” says Dauliyah. “I told you once: you’ve more power than most of us, if you ever decide to use it. If you were trying to consolidate your power before-”</p><p>“-I’m not trying anything,” says Jodhaa tiredly. “I am simply aware of my situation.”</p><p>Understanding softens Dauliyah’s face, and Jodhaa sighs. She’s always been strangely fond of Dauliyah. The woman had come to the zenana directly after Jodhaa’s first miscarriage, lost and young enough to be a simple girl; Jodhaa had taken her under her wing instead of shunning her, and despite the differences in religion and personality and even fashion, their relationship has blossomed into something rather beautiful over these years.</p><p>“Ruqaiya would have to lose her mind wholly to act against you.”</p><p>“That tongue will get you into trouble,” warns Jodhaa. </p><p>Dauliyah purses her lips. “Jalal will not act against you, either.”</p><p>“No?” asks Jodhaa. “Are you certain of that?”</p><p><em> “Jodhaa,” </em> says Dauliyah. “He loves you!”</p><p>“He loved Adham Khan,” says Jodhaa dully. “He loved Maham Anga, and he loved Bhairam Khan, too; but he showed no mercy there.”</p><p>“That was all before he met you! You’ve said that you taught him the value of love!”</p><p>“That was before my son set the Emperor’s crown on his own head.”</p><p>“This isn’t just about you, is it?” asks Dauliyah, eyes sharp. “You are worried for Salim as well. That you might remind Jalal of- of- of his heir bearing foreign blood?”</p><p>“Salim is not Ruqaiya’s son,” Jodhaa bites out. “He isn’t Salima’s son, nor Gulrukh’s. He is <em> mine, </em>and-”</p><p>“-and Jalal was born in <em> Hindustan, </em>he knows precisely who-”</p><p>“There is a difference between knowledge and <em> knowledge!” </em>shouts Jodhaa. </p><p>She immediately winces, touching her throbbing head, and glances over to the doors: someone would have heard the disturbance, even if they couldn’t make out the details. Which is almost worse in its way; people can make up whatever they want, and Jodhaa will not even be able to tell them that they’re wrong.</p><p>Well, in for a drop, in for a bucket: Jodhaa lowers her voice and continues: “There is a difference between knowing that and being confronted with the fact that his Hindu wife’s son rebelled against him.” She scrapes together the surety that she’s had ever since Ruqaiya left her quarters in the morning. “I must leave. If I am here- things will only get worse. I must be forgotten, and I must trust in Ruqaiya and Hamida to reconcile this with minimal bloodshed. All I can offer are my prayers and my absence, which means I cannot be here.”</p><p>“Where will you go then?” asks Dauliyah.</p><p>Jodhaa touches the pearls at her throat, trying not to wince when Dauliyah’s eyes narrow at it. “I thought to return to Ajmer,” she says. “It would be easy; but it could be construed as gathering the Rajputs against my husband, and I’ve no desire for that.”</p><p>“You haven’t answered the question,” Dauliyah says neutrally.</p><p>“Then I remembered Salim’s nature,” says Jodhaa, calm and intent once more: like a rushing river, she’s now being carried onwards by the force of her previous actions, and can only trust that what she’s done so far is the good, honest, and true thing. “You see, he is not like our husband, Dauliyah; he is far less sure of himself. Perhaps he will grow into that. But what I know of Salim is that he has never managed to keep a secret in his life.” </p><p>“Rebelling against his father does not constitute the same level of plotting as trying to get a military posting that he enjoys.”</p><p>“Do you think the truth matters?” asks Jodhaa gently, and sees the first crack in Dauliyah’s armor- a good armor, a sturdy armor, even, but one built on the shakiest of foundations. “Ruqaiya will remember Salim’s nature soon, if she has not already. She will remember that I professed not to know anything and was believable, and she will remember who else my son loves within this zenana.”</p><p>“Jodhaa,” whispers Dauliyah.</p><p>“Where is Shakrunissa?” asks Jodhaa. </p><p>Dauliyah’s hands clench down, hard enough for her nails to draw blood. <em> So you did suspect, </em> thinks Jodhaa, less satisfied and more fearful. <em> But you hoped otherwise. </em></p><p>“I don’t know.”</p><p>“Find out,” advises Jodhaa, and rises. “Tell me at dawn tomorrow, Dauliyah.”</p><p>“Or what?” asks Dauliyah, lifting her chin defiantly.</p><p>Jodhaa smiles down at her, soft and sad. “I cannot save my own son,” she says. “Let me at least protect your daughter.”</p><p>She walks out and touches the stone of the hallway: it’s reddish, with blue inlay, and it is lovely. Jodhaa has always loved this stone. It is not smooth like the ones in Ajmer; it’s just the tiniest bit rough, scraping against her fingers. Hurtful. Real.</p><p>Her head really does hurt. </p><p>This will not help it.</p><p>But something must distract from Jodhaa shouting unintelligibly at Dauliyah, and certainly must give Jodhaa an excuse to hide from general court, and if that requires pain…</p><p>Well, Jodhaa has known much pain in her life. This isn’t even going to be remembered in a week’s time.</p><p>Make it look good, she tells herself grimly, and angles herself under the pretext of abrupt dizziness, and before either Salima or Devaki can catch her, Jodhaa has stumbled, and hit her hand on the rough stone, and slumped to the floor, skirt catching perfectly on a bronze lamp to bring the oil and the flame down on her silks.</p><p>The resulting uproar certainly silences the whispers of Jodhaa’s temper with Dauliyah.</p><p>…</p><p><em> You cannot walk with me into Yamaloka, </em> says Yama.</p><p><em> I have been virtuous all my life, </em> replies Satyavati. <em> I have observed my vows, I have respected my elders, I have loved my husband truly, I have studied the religious texts- and I know, my lord, that the vedas tell us that friendship is built by walking seven steps besides another person. </em> A pause, the briefest of pauses. <em> And a friend must listen, must they not? To another’s fears, and another’s worries, and another’s desires. For such is the burden of that relationship. </em></p><p>(Jodhaa imagines that scene often: the scarlet eyes of Yama, set into a bone-pale face; the shadows scattered around Savitri, the courage it must take a woman- any woman- to walk seven steps beside death himself, and then claim that bravery to be friendship. She imagines the upturned look on Savitri’s face: Savitri, named for the sun, named for Saraswati and for wisdom and intelligence and cunning; Savitri, who is never taught to be brave, but learns it for herself. For her husband.)</p><p><em> Very well, </em> Yama says. <em> Tell me, then, friend who dares to walk by my side. Tell me, and I shall listen. </em></p><p>…</p><p>The truth is that Dauliyah had been married to someone else before coming to Jalal’s court. The story of their meeting has been immortalized; Jalal had insisted that Abdul Wasi divorce her so he could wed her, and she’d arrived in the zenana weeks after Jodhaa’s first miscarriage: so slender as to look birdlike, eyes wide and bruised, obviously fragile. Perhaps Jodhaa should have disliked her. It certainly would have made sense: here was the <em> fifth </em>wife, fought for and embattled where Jodhaa herself had been nothing but a burden, and a flawed burden at that, incapable of even giving the Shah-Shahenshah of Hindustan his heir.</p><p>But Jodhaa had felt a fierce surge of love, and not just love: protectiveness.</p><p>She and Dauliyah had been close then, yes, but made even closer by the arrival of the other three- the ones that were Mughals born and bred, Muslim royalty that could trace their lineage back to Timur himself. The three higher wives, who held more power and more grace, and wielded that power without conscious effort.</p><p>Shakrunissa was born to Dauliyah two full years before Salim, but the two were inseparable from birth: Shakrunissa was impressively protective of her little brother, and Salim was both adoring and wild enough to be adorable.</p><p>Aram Banu- Dauliyah’s second child, his youngest child, a girl born in late winter to match Salim’s late summer birth- is Jalal’s favorite child, that’s clear to everyone with eyes. Shakrunissa’s rebellions are chastised by Jalal with impatience, but Aram is only chided gently, if that. </p><p>But Shakrunissa is <em> Salim’s </em>favorite, and that’s what matters now.</p><p>…</p><p><em> I have learned of the importance of duty, </em> says Savitri. <em> I have learned how duty leads to merit, and how merit leads to knowledge, and how this knowledge is the foremost of all things. More than even the purusarthas, it is duty that we must strive towards; dharma is of utmost importance than artha or kama or moksha. </em></p><p><em> Enough, </em>says Yama.</p><p><em> Do not tell me to renounce my husband, </em> she replies gently. <em> And do not call this dharma. </em></p><p>…</p><p>Jodhaa wakes the next morning to Dauliyah clutching her hand, white-faced, kohl smeared down her face so badly that Jodhaa’s certain she’s overwrought.</p><p>“Dali,” she murmurs, and lifts her free hand to brush the hair sticking to Dauliyah’s cheeks away. “Oh, whatever has happened to you?”</p><p>She stiffens, consciousness returning to her in little jerks, but it still takes her a minute to realize that Jodhaa is awake. “You stupid woman!” she bites out, but her voice is trembling enough that Jodhaa forgives her almost immediately. “Why would you come to my chambers while ill!”</p><p>“You and I both know that illness, of all things, is not something that I can afford now.” Jodhaa struggles upright, considering: her skull hurts, little starbursts of pain running down her spine, but nothing more than the time that Sujamal had slammed her head into a pillar with his elbow while they were children and sparring away from supervision. Jodhaa hadn’t told anyone about that, and actually finagled her way to first place in a singing contest the very next day, so she isn’t worried about this level of injury. The burns down her legs are a bit more worrisome, but it isn’t like Jodhaa’s planning to ride a horse in the near future, so why should she care? “And that everything is far more complicated than necessary. Tell me, how long was I unconscious?”</p><p>Dauliyah hesitates. Then she says, unwillingly, “Three hours. You were responding to Gulrukh when she slapped you, but- the doctors said you should rest.”</p><p>“And for three hours you wept as if I would die,” says Jodhaa wryly, but she reaches forward and embraces Dauliyah, warmth flooding her veins. </p><p>“Aurangabad,” Dauliyah whispers into Jodhaa’s ear, when they’re still holding each other. “She fled to Aurangabad. If you’re quick enough-”</p><p>“I will be,” assures Jodhaa. “I am perfectly capable.”</p><p>Dauliyah studies Jodhaa closely: she doesn’t look like she believes her. But it’s clear that what’s in front of her eyes doesn’t matter so much as the hope in her heart, and what mother wishes for her daughter to suffer?</p><p>“Don’t worry,” Jodhaa assures her, and holds Dauliyah’s hands close. </p><p>…</p><p>There is a long silence, and then Yama chuckles, and says, <em> Very well then. Ask me for anything except for the life of your husband, and I shall bestow it on you. </em></p><p><em> My husband’s father is bereft of his sight, </em> says Savitri. <em> Let that be restored to him. </em></p><p><em> Very well, </em> says Yama. <em> Return to your husband’s father, then, Savitri. You cannot continue on this path: it is not meant for mortals; it is too harrowing and too exhausting. </em></p><p>And Savitri laughs. <em> What weariness can I feel when beside a friend and the love of my life? Listen to me, o chief of the celestials! To speak to you, to speak to Dharmaraja: even once is a gift, but to have friendship is a miracle. Such a meeting shall always bear fruit. Exhaustion has no room in such a relationship. </em></p><p>Yama laughs. It rumbles over the land like thunder that can be touched. <em> You are clever indeed! Very well then, Savitri the Wise: ask for a second boon, and I will grant you anything save for the life of Satyavan.  </em></p><p>…</p><p>That night, she sends Ni’mat to tell Ruqaiya that she will go to Varanasi. It is a courtesy; Jodhaa does not need to, not when she’s Jalal’s wife herself, and the mother of his heir besides. Her maids all look a little terrified, and her ladies look a little questioning too, but Jodhaa is unyielding: she will be going, and she will not be going slowly either.</p><p>Ruqaiya herself returns.</p><p>She is pale and small, her twilight-purple hair pulled into a braid like a knife made of the sky, little starlike gems studded through the dark strands.</p><p>“You are unwell,” she says.</p><p>Jodhaa cannot quite make out the tone of her voice, but she does smile. “It is grief,” she says. “And fear. I wish to go to Varanasi, Sister, where I might touch the waters of Ganga and wash away some of this sorrow.”</p><p>Ruqaiya’s hands tighten on themselves. “You must not go north.”</p><p>“Varanasi is not to the north.”</p><p>“I know where Varanasi is,” snaps Ruqaiya. “You must be careful now- even my husband’s love might not be enough to save you. You must be beyond reproach.”</p><p>“I have always been beyond reproach,” says Jodhaa flatly.</p><p>She has rarely spoken to Ruqaiya like this. No: Jodhaa has <em> never </em>spoken to her like this. Their spheres of control have been separate, mostly because Jodhaa’s gone out of her way to make it separate. In the beginning Jodhaa hadn’t wanted to give Jalal reason to choose between her and anyone else, and by the time she was assured in her husband’s love she’d gotten used to the current state of affairs.</p><p>Ruqaiya recoils, but her eyes go flat and mirrored as a snake’s, and her hands look like they’re bruising her own wrists. “I simply,” she says slowly, “do not wish you to be hurt.”</p><p>“And I do not wish to be hurt,” says Jodhaa, softening her stance as best she can. “But my son has taken such wishes from me.” She swallows, and manages to smile at Ruqaiya, even as it feels like it’s scraping something very vital in her chest. “It is best if I’m not here when our husband returns. I cannot be the one to insist on a reconciliation between Salim and the Emperor of Hindustan- you know this, Ruqaiya, you know that the task falls to you.”</p><p>“I can only do my best.”</p><p>“My best is in Varanasi,” says Jodhaa wearily. “I can only pray, now, and if I must I shall do it in the sacred places.”</p><p>After a long moment, Ruqaiya acquiesces, and Jodhaa watches her go, and she closes her eyes, reclining against the pillows.</p><p>Lies and smoke: Jodhaa knows how to play this game, perhaps, but she is bad at it. She’s always been bad at it. She wants nothing more than to sleep until everything is fixed, her husband and her son and her life once more.</p><p>But Jodhaa has a duty waiting for her, and sleep can wait until it is done.</p><p>(“You do not have to leave,” says Dauliyah, later, a breath puffing against Jodhaa’s cheek.</p><p>Jodhaa turns and kisses her. “When Sharifuddin rebelled,” she murmurs, “his wife could not be the one to reconcile her brother and her husband. Single combat, the battles that were fought- it had to come from me, then. And now this shall have to be completed by someone other than me.”)</p><p>…</p><p><em> I ask for my husband’s father’s kingdom, </em> says Savitri. <em> It was stolen from him: may he never have to renounce it! </em></p><p><em> So shall it be done, </em> says Yama, and looks so regretful that he might try to touch Savitri if his touch were not death itself. <em> Desist, now, Savitri the Bright: you have done more than any duty of a daughter! Return to your husband’s father’s kingdom and let your mind be untroubled any longer! </em></p><p><em> This world is yours, </em> says Savitri softly. <em> You have given it order from chaos, and you have lived by those orders: I know you do not take my husband because you wish to, but because of the decrees you have constructed. But is not the eternal duty of goodness to never injure any creature? Should we not strive to bear them love and give them respect? I know of your decrees, my lord, but is not mercy the finest of traits? </em> And Savitri does not kneel to Yama, but she spreads her palms wide, and she looks up at him: eyes bright as the sun, bringing light to herself even in the grey twilight of the half-dead paths Yama walks. <em> Is not mercy a trait of the good, even- and especially- when it is an enemy that the mercy is being offered to? </em></p><p><em> You are not my enemy, </em>says Yama.</p><p><em> I am a friend, </em> says Savitri, <em> but you are taking my husband from me: and what is that but something for me to fight? </em></p><p>And for a third time, Yama laughs, and says: <em> Very well then! Have mercy from my tender heart, Savitri the Clever, and ask for a third boon, and I shall grant everything that is not Satyavan’s life! </em></p><p>…</p><p>Jodhaa has her guards set up a private place for her to walk into the waters. Ni’mat waits at the beach with the rest of Jodhaa’s ladies, but Jodhaa does not mind; she knows better than to resent the scarce moments of privacy that she’ll get. The river is cold, so cold as to hurt, but she wades into it unflinchingly, and cups the water in her hands to pass it over her hair, shivering.</p><p>The sunlight plays off of the water, glittering like ground diamonds. </p><p>The wind bites into her skin, full of teeth.</p><p><em> You have come too far, </em>Yama had told Savitri, but Savitri had refused to flee: because no god, no man, no one in all the world could know how far was far enough when one's family was at stake.</p><p>She turns and walks out of the water, and she says, quietly, “There is one more place we must go.”</p><p>The footprint of Savitri awaits her.</p><p>…</p><p><em> My father is left without heirs, </em> says Savitri. <em> I ask for a hundred sons for him and my mother, may they live long and prosperously! </em></p><p><em> And he shall! </em> says Yama. He stops, for he stands at the grand halls of death: the gates are pearly and shining, made of a strange kind of opalescent material that Savitri has never seen before. The noose upon which Satyavan’s soul hangs is gripped lightly in Yama’s fingers, which look strangely, almost obscenely normal. When he continues, Yama sounds sad, and soft, and gentle, too, which is the most impossible of all because Yama is many things- good, yes, and sharp, too- but not gentle, never gentle. <em> You have come far enough, friend of my heart, and can come no further. </em></p><p><em> With my husband at my side I do not know the passing of time, or of the difficulty of the path. </em> And she drops to her knees, and looks, desolately, not at her husband’s soul but at Yama’s eyes, which are terrifying, but not anywhere near as terrifying as the idea of a lifetime alone. <em> I do not claim to know much, my lord! I do not claim to know anything at all! You are the bringer of order, and the lord of justice, and you know what righteousness is differently to any of us on earth! But tell me- tell me- what righteousness is this- to leave me alone- motherless- husbandless- alone and alone and </em>alone-</p><p>Yama touches her now. His fingers are dry and cold, and hurt a little: they’re so cold it burns. He lifts her chin up, so her tears have turned to ice on her cheeks and all she can see are his eyes, which are red, red as a sunset. Red as the sun he was borne from. Red as the sun that Savitri is named for.</p><p>…</p><p>They stop in Aurangabad for a moment’s rest. It is a cool night, windy and dry, and Jodhaa waits until the entire complex of Siris goes dark to arouse her companions and command them to follow her. She thinks she knows where her half-daughter shall be: it would be where Jodhaa herself would go, if she’d ever been foolish enough to flee to the woods.</p><p>The Mali is a series of temple ruins, sprawled over a large tract of ground. Todar Mal’s men have left it abandoned; they’ve been more concerned with the Afghan uprisings than rebuilding the grand temples of yore. Inside, as Jodhaa had suspected, is Shakrunissa, staring white-faced and wide-eyed, at Jodhaa’s finery.</p><p>At least her presence here shows some modicum of intelligence; Todar Mal’s men would have turned Shakrunissa over to Akbar without a moment’s hesitation if she’d revealed her presence to them.</p><p>“Malika,” she whispers, bending to press her forehead to the stone.</p><p>“We’ve not much time,” says Jodhaa crisply. “You shall have to be in disguise until we reach safety. Your mother sent me. Do you understand?” She nods. The moonlight reveals the sunken pits of Shakrunissa’s cheeks: Jodhaa feels something like pity steal over her, against her will. “How have you survived?”</p><p>“There is an orchard nearby.” She hesitates. “I stole fruit.”</p><p>Jodhaa’s heart softens further. It’s an early winter; there can’t have been many fruits, and those that would have been would be rotten, if not half-chewed by monkeys first. </p><p>She lifts her voice to be heard by the others in her retinue, huddled at the entrance to the temple. </p><p>“I find myself ridden with charity today. You shall be accompanying me to the Udyanta mountains.”</p><p>“Malika,” says Shakrunissa fervently.</p><p>Jodhaa reaches out and cups her half-daughter’s cheek, smoothing her thumb over the dust and filth grimed onto it. “Follow me. We’ve much to speak of.”</p><p>She commands her men to get ready to leave. The reason why Jodhaa had wished to stop in Aurangabad is completed. Now the longer they stay here shall give rise to questions about the beggar she’s decided to aid, and Jodhaa has still not decided how she shall answer those questions yet.</p><p>Safely ensconced in her palanquin, Jodhaa sees Shakrunissa gather some strength from her surroundings as well; it steadies her own heart.</p><p>“It was a foolish thing,” says Shakrunissa miserably.</p><p>“It was.”</p><p>“He has been defeated then?”</p><p>“It’s a matter of time,” says Jodhaa slowly, a little shocked by the sheer gall of Shakrunissa’s questions. “Your father is returning from the Deccan as we speak.”</p><p>“And you aren’t trying to convince him of mercy?” demands Shakrunissa. “Salim needs all the aid he can get!”</p><p>“Salim made a mistake,” says Jodhaa coldly. “And he must pay for it.”</p><p>“With his <em> life?” </em></p><p>“Do you think me more capable of convincing my husband than Hamida and Ruqaiya?”</p><p>“Yes!” says Shakrunissa, pressing her fingers against her face until there’s no blood in them and they look as thin and cutting as if they’ve been stripped of the fat and tendon and skin: leaving behind only blood. “You have always reminded him of the use of his heart!”</p><p>Jodhaa slumps back, and she sighs wearily. “No,” she says. “You cannot understand. For your father would not listen to his heart when lost by the thrall of the crown: and he must be king, now, ever before he is father or husband.”</p><p>“So you abandoned him.”</p><p>“To come to you,” Jodhaa points out. “Because you were foolish enough to flee! Whatever possessed you to leave your husband’s home? Surely you knew it would be enough to bring attention down on your head!”</p><p>“Attention? When everyone is thinking of <em> Salim?” </em></p><p>“The emperor of Hindustan will not kill his heir,” says Jodhaa grimly. “But you are not so valuable as he. And eventually- he will think of you. Or Ruqaiya shall, if she has not already. Which I thought you knew, you foolish, foolish girl.”</p><p>“I will go into exile if that’s what is necessary,” says Shakrunissa, lifting her chin. “Salim will welcome me back when he comes into power.”</p><p>“Do you know what that entails?” asks Jodhaa. “Truly, truly know? You’d have to leave your mother behind; you’d have to leave all of them behind. Your foray into mud and dirt in the Mali shall be your entire life, not just the exploration of a few weeks.”</p><p>Shakrunissa bites her lip. “I can’t go back to my husband.”</p><p>“Shakrunissa-”</p><p>“I will <em> not,” </em> she says, and her eyes fill with tears, though they do not fall. “I loathe him: I <em> loathe </em>him, and you cannot make me go back, not for anything in this world.”</p><p>Jodhaa frowns. “I wasn’t aware of your unhappiness.”</p><p>“You wouldn’t be,” she hisses. “Nobody knows. But it’s true. And I’m not going back.”</p><p>“You’re young,” says Jodhaa bracingly. </p><p>“If you send me back,” says Shakrunissa, “I will drink poison. Don’t make the mistake of thinking I’m exaggerating. I’ve had enough. Seven children! And no room for <em> myself </em>in that house: none of this is what I wanted, but I thought I could live with it until I found I couldn’t. Give me the filth of this land; give me the mud! I’d rather have that than die in silence, too afraid to breathe wrong!”</p><p>For a long moment, Jodhaa doesn’t say anything. Then she manages: “This is not about Salim, is it?”</p><p>“Things are never that simple,” replies Shakrunissa, looking out the silk-shrouded windows of the palanquin, nails digging into the soft wood hard enough to dent it. “Never.”</p><p>…</p><p><em> I have known grief, </em> he says quietly. <em> I did not know it at first- but then I left, for a long time, and my sister grieved me: she taught me the importance of grief. She taught me how terrible missing someone can be. Even now she cannot bear my presence for how it reminds her of my absences: she runs as a river on earth, and stays away from my realms in heaven. I know grief, Savitri the Compassionate, and I know righteousness: and for this knowledge, I offer you one last boon, all save for the life of your husband. </em></p><p><em> I ask for children, then, </em> says Satyavati. <em> A hundred sons, of my and my husband’s blood. That is the fourth boon I beg of you. </em></p><p><em> And you shall, </em> says Yama, relieved. <em> You shall have a hundred sons, each strong and brave, bringing you the finest joy in all the land. Now </em> go, <em> Savitri the Bold. Go to your home. You have already come too far. </em></p><p>…</p><p>Jodhaa finally works the story out of Shakrunissa the night before they reach Gaya. It takes a lot of wheedling and Jodhaa loses her temper more than she’d like to admit to, but Shakrunissa is frustrating; she’d never been like this before. Shakrunissa had been the soft, laughing daughter that Jalal adored; he’d always adored his daughters, ever more than his sons. And Shakrunissa had always been the biddable one, the one not quite so beautiful as her sister or mother nor quite so clever; the gentle daughter, the dutiful daughter. She’d always been older than her years; it was why Jalal decided to marry her off despite her youth, and despite the age gap between her and Shahrukh Mirza. </p><p>After that, whenever she accompanied her husband to court, Shakrunissa had always looked cheerful. </p><p>But she’d been with child then, Jodhaa remembers: with child, constantly, and any woman, even the most cheerful, would be strained with pregnancy. They’d all assumed any bouts of silence or cheerlessness to be the product of that condition and not due to her marriage.</p><p>Five years and five pregnancies, and seven children to come out of it. Two sets of twins, four sons, three daughters. And Shakrunissa is not even at three decades of age! </p><p>“He loved his first wife,” says Shakrunissa. “Loves her still: my mother’s sister, do you remember?”</p><p>And Jodhaa does, distantly; a woman who’d looked remarkably like Shakrunissa, in the early years of her marriage to Jalal, with the same forgiving temper and sweet voice. A woman who’d died, Jodhaa thinks, of a fever or another illness; and then been forgotten about by everyone except for those who’d loved her deathfully.</p><p>“You look like her,” she murmurs.</p><p>Shakrunissa laughs, bitter as bile. “Do you think my father knew that when he gave me away?”</p><p>“Oh, my girl,” says Jodhaa. </p><p>There are no words for this, are there? </p><p>For the horror, and for the bitterness, and for the grief of this match. Jodhaa swallows.</p><p>“He loved her,” says Shakrunissa, “and he sees me in her, and he has spent the past six years trying to kill me as she died: giving me child after child, no matter how I begged him to leave me alone. Child after child after <em> child, </em>children I did not want nor desire!” She tosses her hair back. There are tears in her voice, but none in her eyes. “It is Kabuli he cares for, and I that he finds disposable, and there are only so many years in which a woman will accept being smothered without even the dignity of a pillow over my face!”</p><p>So the story is something less idyllic than any of them had imagined. a husband who loves his dead first wife far more than Shakrunissa, who wedded Shakrunissa solely for the sake of an heir; Shahrukh loves Shakrunissa’s cousin- his third wife, Kabuli Begum- far more than Shakrunissa, and none of them are shy of showing their disdain to Shakrunissa within their home. Shakrunissa’s children are being raised by Kabuli, and even <em> they </em>are contemptuous of Shakrunissa when she tries to interact with them.</p><p>But even this she could have lived with, Shakrunissa insists, if not for that she has never wanted children in the first place. It’d been what was expected of her and so she had bowed to Jalal’s advice all those years earlier, wedding Shahrukh with all the stars in her eyes of a young woman, but now she has seen how Aram Banu has not married, and how everyone tolerates <em> her </em>despite being so much more unpleasant a person than Shakrunissa, and she’s decided that she shall not live in this manner, not for one hour longer. She has decided that she will do whatever must be done, if she need not live like this any longer.</p><p>(“What do you want?” asks Jodhaa, because she’s never known herself, and she’s allowed herself to languish over these years in that confusion. “If you could have anything, what would you ask for?”</p><p>And Shakrunissa laughs, and she says, “Freedom.”)</p><p>…</p><p><em> And not far enough, </em> whispers Savitri, head bowing. <em> O, Dharmaraya: it is said that they who are righteous practice that righteousness for all their days, and it is that which makes the sun your father drift across the skies; it is that righteousness that supports the earth from pataloka; it is that righteousness that determines our past and gives us a future. They that are righteous continue to do good to others without expecting any benefit in return. Mercy and kindness are never discarded by the virtuous! Neither interest nor dignity suffers any injury by such an act! And because of all of this- those who are righteous are not only righteous. They are protectors as well. They are the protectors of all. </em> She touches the cold burn on her cheek, and she says, grimly, <em> I throw myself upon your protection tonight, King of Dharma! </em></p><p><em> Rarely have I spoken to one as fluid in tongue and nimble in mind while caught in the throes of grief, </em> replies Yama. <em> I have no protection to offer you, Savitri. My home is not meant for you; my lands shall only kill you all the faster. I have no friends on earth, and no family that will aid you. For you who are alone, for you who are so devoted to your husband: ask for one last, incomparable boon from me! </em></p><p>And finally, finally, Savitri lets herself smile. <em> O bestower of honors: the fourth boon you have already given me cannot be accomplished without my husband. Therefore I ask you one last boon: may Satyavan be restored to life! Without him, I am as one dead; without him, I do not wish for happiness or prosperity or heaven itself! You have given my the boon of a hundred sons, my lord, but you have resolved to steal away the man who would be their father.  </em></p><p>…</p><p>At the Brahmayoni hill, Jodhaa sits in the dust and shrubbery, alone, and she closes her eyes, and she lets the wind carry her thoughts high and dancing over the land. </p><p><em> This is not dharma, </em> she thinks. <em> This is not right. </em></p><p>
  <em> Silence is the last grief to be sung. Savitri spoke until death itself fell before her: and am I more afraid of my husband than she was of death? </em>
</p><p>“Give me wisdom,” she whispers. “Give me brightness. Give me boldness. Lend me your strength, oh woman of the sun! I have need of it now.”</p><p>There is no answer. Jodhaa has never expected one, so this does not surprise her; but when she looks up, the clouds have parted, and the sun shines down on her, the sun named Savitr, the sun whose son was death, and died the first death of any man.</p><p>“I love him,” she says, and touches the stone beneath her fingers that is said to be the footprint of Savitri herself, golden and gleaming and bold as polished, brilliant brass. “I love him so much it feels like I can swim in it: like it is the Ganga, flowing around me, strong enough to support me. Strong enough to drown me.” She blinks, and brings the dust on her fingers to her lips, presses it against her skin. “It has been cold for so long. I keep remembering that: the cold when I left the waters. But there is more to a river than its chill. Just as there is more to my love than our duties.”</p><p><em> You have always reminded him of the use of his heart! </em>had been Shakrunissa’s accusation- or not accusation, perhaps, but simple truth, flat and unyielding for it.</p><p>“I forgot my own heart,” says Jodhaa heavily. “That is the truth here, is it not? You never allowed yourself to forget, Savitri the Bold and Wise and Bright: you walked into your marriage with Satyavan knowing what you could lose, and you still chose to love him for all the time you’d have with all of your heart.</p><p>“It is not so easy in this world, to be sure. But perhaps it was not easy for you, and you still did it.” Jodhaa laughs, a little. “None of this shall be easy. But I’ve spent too long being afraid and being silent. I cannot change that now: I must only look forward. And I am tired of this.”</p><p>She closes her eyes, and she sings the Saraswati Stotram then, letting her lungs go rich and large and loud, and Jodhaa sings the line for Savitri loudest of all: <em> Savitri sursa devi divya-lankaarbhushita. </em></p><p>…</p><p>
  <em> This is the last boon I ask of you then: May Satyavan be restored to life, for by that boon so shall your previous boon be made true. </em>
</p><p>Yama, with joy and with laughter, unties the noose from Satyavan’s throat and says, <em> And so your husband is freed, Savitri the Auspicious!  </em></p><p>…</p><p>“Do you trust me?” she asks Shakrunissa, when she returns to the palanquin.</p><p>Shakrunissa clasps Jodhaa’s hands in her own, and she says, “Yes.”</p><p>… </p><p><em> Take him with you as you flee, </em> commands Yama, <em> and live for another four hundred years! Achieve great fame! Beget a century of sons and have a rule long and true and prosperous!  </em></p><p>And so Savitri desists, finally, and returns to the tree where her husband’s body lies, cradling his soul in the cage of her fingers as delicately as a dove. She puts his head on her lap, and she touches his dear curls, his soft chin, until Satyavan’s eyes open.</p><p>…</p><p>They ride into the central courtyard of the women’s quarters. Jodhaa has timed it well: Jalal emerges from his mother’s quarters, brow still furrowed as if he’s lost in thought, dressed in far less finery than if he’d been in court.</p><p>“Jodhaa,” he says, startled.</p><p>It’s unlike her to make such grand appearances. But Jodhaa is enjoying this, this dance of energy beneath her skin like lightning in her veins, and she has little desire to remain the quiet, shadowed mother of Akbar’s heir any longer.</p><p>“Husband,” she replies, and starts to bend to touch his feet.</p><p>His hands come up around her shoulders, warm and large, stilling her movement. “Ruqaiya tells me that you wished to go on pilgrimage.”</p><p>“I heard the matter has been put to rest, and had to hear it from you to believe it.”</p><p>“He is our son,” says Jalal, laughing. “Your pride, and my impatience. He meant nothing by it, not truly.”</p><p>“I shall speak to him sometime, then,” says Jodhaa. Then she tilts her head up, in the manner that means that she wishes Jalal to reveal her face to him, and he understands with that quicksilver mind of his; he acquiesces to lift her veil away from her face. “There are two other things I’d speak to you about, before all else.”</p><p>Something shifts in his eyes, though Jalal does not truly tense. Jodhaa can see Ruqaiya in the background, and Hamida too; both of them are frozen like statues. </p><p>“Salim did not act alone,” says Jodhaa gently.</p><p>A rustle goes through the courtyard. And then Dauliyah is there: draped in a blue so bright it’s searing.</p><p><em> “Shakrunissa,” </em>she cries, and the veiled woman who’d just alighted from Jodhaa’s palanquin is revealed to be Shakrunissa, as small and tense as she’d been while huddled on the floor of a ruined temple. Dauliyah turns to Jalal, tears already streaming down her face. “You must not think too badly of her, my lord, oh most merciful of hearts, oh most-”</p><p>Anxiety curdles through Jodhaa’s belly. This she had not planned for; and Dauliyah’s fear has turned her stupid. Every word she tells Jalal is another word that incriminates Shakrunissa, that makes her more guilty in Jalal’s eyes rather than less.</p><p>
  <em> Only those who are guilty must beg for mercy. </em>
</p><p>Swiftly, Jodhaa steps away from Jalal and slaps her: once, only, but hard enough for the ring on her hand to catch on Dauliyah’s lip and draw blood. Dauliyah makes a hurt noise high in her throat, crumpling, and Shakrunissa catches her.</p><p>“Do not speak on things you do not understand,” says Jodhaa harshly. Then she turns back to Jalal, ignoring the stunned silence spreading through the zenana. “Shakrunissa advised Salim to rebel against you. That much is true enough. I knew that someone must have done so to provoke him into action: and because he had not spoken to me, I knew it must have been his favored sister. So I left to find her.”</p><p>Jalal takes in the information easily; he’s had the practice in absorbing the crisp, unembellished details of his scouts and soldiers. </p><p>“Where was she?”</p><p>“In Aurangabad. I stopped in Varanasi to pray, and from there I went to Gaya to pray at the temple there. I picked her up along the way and understood why she would wish to defy her father.”</p><p>“Tell us, then,” says Gulrukh, looking utterly, incandescently furious. “Tell us what was so terrible that it could provoke her into rebellion, that you would dare to bring her back to this home!”</p><p>Jodhaa lifts her chin, and she says, not looking away from Jalal, “Do you remember what you told her on her wedding day?”</p><p>“I told her that I wished nothing more than for her to be joyous,” says Jalal slowly. “I told her that Shahrukh Mirza is a good man, but his age is not so great as to be odious; that I wished her the greatest joys and the greatest sons of any mother in this world.”</p><p>“Shakrunissa told me a similar thing,” says Jodhaa. “Only in her memory, it was not a wish. She remembers it to be that you <em> knew </em> she would be joyous.”</p><p>Jalal stares at her. </p><p>Ruqaiya says, sharply, “If you’re implying something-”</p><p>“I imply nothing,” says Jodhaa. “I only wish to say what I have heard over these weeks, where I have prayed for my son’s health and my husband’s strength, and I feared for both in equal measure.”</p><p>Jalal has not looked away from her this whole time. Jodhaa flattens her hand on his breast, and offers him the truest smile she can: true, and bitter, but truer for the bitterness. </p><p>Then he turns to Shakrunissa, who has watched the discussion the whole time with wide, despairing eyes. Her arms are around her mother, but she’s half behind her; when she sees Jalal approaching, she lets go of Dauliyah and rises to her full height, chin trembling.</p><p>“Father,” she says, barely an audible whisper.</p><p>“Are you unhappy?” he asks.</p><p>Shakrunissa jerks her head, once, as if she knows that to do more will betray her grief.</p><p>“You should have told me,” says Jalal quietly. “Not committed treason. Not incited treason.”</p><p>“You refused my three previous audiences,” says Shakrunissa- and this is something that Jodhaa does not know herself. “I went to Salim for aid. I explained. And he- he said- he spoke to me of Anarkali, and I was- I could not bear it, if you did to me as you did to him- if you dismissed me- if you-”</p><p>“So you wished to depose me?” he asks.</p><p>“You cannot understand the desperation of a woman with nowhere else to turn,” says Shakrunissa.</p><p>Jodhaa steps towards them, and presses her hand to Jalal’s shoulder, and says, softly, “Tell her what you told me on our wedding night.”</p><p>For a long moment, he does not answer, but then Jalal softens, dipping into her grip the smallest bit. “I offered Jodhaa the path of the khulla,” he says to Shakrunissa, and ignores the ripple of shock that spreads through the courtyard. “She refused it, but I never rescinded it: for grief and unhappiness in a marriage is not to be condoned.”</p><p>They rarely speak of those years spent alone, and as far as Jodhaa knows, nobody else had been aware of how estranged she and Jalal had truly been at the beginning save for Hamida, and even for Hamida she’d been traveling so much that it might not have been immediately obvious.</p><p>“You would not speak against a divorce?” asks Shakrunissa tremulously.</p><p>“No,” says Jalal, and opens his arms, and Shakrunissa goes into them, weeping, finally, openly, relief dripping from her like tears.</p><p>…</p><p><em> I did not expect to see you again in the splendor of earth, </em>says Satyavan, when he takes her in.</p><p><em> And I did not expect to have your warmth in my arms, </em> replies Savitri, <em> but I held hope: and that was enough, in the end. </em></p><p>She takes his axe in her left hand, and her husband’s palm securely in her right, and under the silver moonlight of deep, dark night, they make their way back home.</p><p>…</p><p>Later, Jalal joins Jodhaa in her own quarters.</p><p>“Mariam-uz-Zamani,” he says, and she laughs, and leans back against his chest, still peering out over her balcony at the stars and beautiful moon. “Do not think I have forgotten.”</p><p>“Forgotten what?”</p><p>“That you wished to speak to me of two things, and you’ve only offered me one.”</p><p>Jodhaa closes her eyes, and remembers the grey, green, blue waters of the Ganga, lapping at her with little freezing tongues. She remembers the way that the wind had felt, dancing over her hair, as she touched the footprint of Savitri.</p><p>Savitri the wise, the bold, the beautiful and the brave.</p><p>“I was so afraid of losing what I had that I stopped looking for more.” She turns, so she can look at her husband, at the greatest love of her life, at his dear, handsome features. “I’ve been so silent because of my fear that I forgot what it felt like to sing so loud the wind cannot steal the sound away.”</p><p>“What do you want, then,” asks Jalal, brushing her hair aside to drop a kiss to the side of her neck, “to make a sound so loud the heavens themselves shall ring from it?”</p><p>Jodhaa closes her eyes. All she can see is the water, and the sunlight on the water, and the wind with teeth, fierce as a storm and just as beautiful.</p><p>“A ship,” she murmurs. “A ship for me to conquer the world.”</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>16. Yes, Shakrunissa was married to Shahrukh Mirza, and yes, they had seven children, and yes, he was wedded to Shakrunissa's cousin, Kabuli. But everything else- including the divorce, and unhappiness, and all of it- was made up by me.<br/>17. Er, <a href="https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Anarkali">Anarkali story,</a> if you don't already know it.<br/>18. The last scene of the story refers to Jodhaa beginning her practice in trade- i.e. with ships on the high sea- which really kicks off during her son's reign.<br/>19. A list of the non-English terms used here that the casual person might not be aware of:<br/>- zenana: women's quarters<br/>- Ghazni is a city in Afghanistan<br/>- Varanasi is a city on the banks of the Ganga river, one of the holiest sites in all of Hinduism<br/>- Mandir is, of course, a private temple<br/>- Parvati is the goddess of motherhood; Krishna is the god of compassion and love; Ganapati is another name for Ganesha<br/>- Devi means goddess; Mahadevi means great goddess<br/>- Bibi means sister<br/>- Yamaloka is the land of Yama, or the land of the dead<br/>- Pataloka is hell<br/>- Shah-Shahenshah is Emperor of emperors<br/>- The purusarthas are the four purposes of life according to Hinduism (dharma, kama, artha, and moksha)<br/>- Kohl is eyeliner... I think? Makeup is a foreign concept to me at this stage of lockdown<br/>- Dharmaraja/Dharmaraya: king of dharma, or king of righteousness<br/>- Saraswati Stotra is the hymn sung to goddess Saraswati, of whom Savitri is an aspect<br/></p></blockquote></div></div>
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